


Babysitting

by voxmyriad



Series: Ficlette Roulette [6]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: F/M, Gen, Heavy's singing would lull anyone to sleep, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 21:17:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2788064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voxmyriad/pseuds/voxmyriad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unconscionable fluff, inspired by <a href="http://valoscope.tumblr.com/post/105368721211/for-preludeinz-and-voxmyriad">Valoscope's art</a> and <a href="http://1fort-2fort-redfort-blufort.tumblr.com/post/105357628425/1fort-2fort-redfort-blufort">Prelude's excellent headcanoning</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Babysitting

**Author's Note:**

> Originally on [Tumblr](http://tmblr.co/Z8MTfx1YB89tW)

Miss Pauling knew nothing about babies. Oh, certainly she’d _read_ a great deal about babies. She’d read everything she could get her hands on, every spare moment she had. She’d had endless cups of (herbal) tea at Scout’s mother’s kitchen table, listening dutifully to all the advice (and all the horror stories) she had to offer, and hardly wincing at all. She knew she’d done well there, had earned valuable points in toughness. That came in handy later during a labor that the doctors and nurses had reassured her was both short and easy. What a long and difficult labor would be like, Miss Pauling refused to even consider.

And at the end of it all, she had this, this _person._ This tiny person, made out of her and Scout. Their little girl.

Their little girl wouldn’t _sleep._

She’d slept fine for a few months, then everything had changed. The books had warned about this, called it sleep-regression. It was normal. They’d thought they were ready.

Miss Pauling had never been this tired in her life. She’d stayed up once for three straight days, burying bodies and burning paper trails, and vice versa, and she’d _still_ never been this tired in her life. She summoned a smile for Heavy when she opened the door, but it didn’t quite make it all the way onto her face.

"Thank you for coming by," even her professional voice was a husk of its former self, "sorry about the mess, we’ve been, um." She looked helplessly at the disaster area that had once been their cozy, organized home. "I’ll just." She brushed down the front of her dress, one of her nicer ones, and picked up a few isolated things as Heavy stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

"Is not a problem. You and Scout go, have dinner, have a good time. Will be fine here."

Miss Pauling swallowed back the bubble of apprehension that rose into her throat at the idea of leaving her baby alone—not that she didn’t think Heavy was capable of course he was he’d helped raise all three of his sisters that wasn’t the point she was _leaving her baby_ —and led the way into the living room. Scout’s hair was combed and he was wearing a tie and he looked up from the wailing bundle in his arms as they entered and he didn’t even try to disguise the look of relief on his face.

"Heavy, hey, what’s up?" He sounded tired. He sounded _exhausted._ He sounded almost dead on his feet, though he wasn’t on his feet.

Heavy nodded in greeting as he crossed to the pair. “Leetle Scout must introduce me to this lovely lady,” he said. Even when he spoke quietly, his voice was a rumble. The new sound caught the baby’s attention and Heavy laughed. “There, _Rybka,_ you are like your papa, you could yell down the house around our ears, _da?_ ”

She laughed. The baby laughed. Heavy said something in Russian, which Miss Pauling could have translated if she could still string two thoughts together, and reached out to gather the bundle gently out of Scout’s arms. This was not so well accepted and the wailing began again, but Heavy started humming in some impossibly low bass register. The wailing continued, and then started to subside.

Heavy stood, singing now, low and rhythmic. Miss Pauling tottered across to the couch and sat down heavily. Scout was staring with his mouth open. Heavy was serenading their baby with a rich, rolling rendition of the Song of the Volga Boatman. She kept forgetting what a good voice he had. The fussing had stopped completely. She flopped back against the arm of the couch, staring at the ceiling as Heavy walked the baby around the room. The bundle was barely visible from this angle, just a flap of blanket falling over his arm.

Scout curled up on top of her with a long sigh. She carded her fingers through his tidy hair. It could be combed again before they left. She’d get up in a minute. They’d get up in a minute.

Heavy’s singing trailed off into a whispered endearment, and she didn’t know why Heavy was calling her daughter a fish, but everything was quiet. Everything was quiet.

"Thanks for…doing thing…" she said vaguely, waving a hand in Heavy’s direction before resting it on Scout’s head and closing her eyes, just for a moment.

She did not hear Heavy’s answering, “You are welcome. Good night.” She did not find the blanket he had spread over the pair of them until they woke up, stiff and confused and astonishingly well-rested, hours later. Everything was quiet.

**Author's Note:**

> "Rybka" means "fish" in Russian
> 
> [The Song of the Volga Boatman](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QhoXWUZI0Eg) by the Russian Red Army Choir


End file.
